


rain drops on roses (and soaking wet kittens)

by The_Conquering_Weirdo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anniversaries, Domestic Discipline, Drinking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spanking, and daichi doesn’t have the patience for this, and suga worries too, good friend!daisuga, mentions of - Freeform, relationships, that is this fic, tooru being a sad wet kitten, tooru moping in the rain, while iwa-chan worries, wholesome!iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Conquering_Weirdo/pseuds/The_Conquering_Weirdo
Summary: Tooru knows he’s being dumb. This has never stopped him from doing something even dumber.(Please read the tags and exit if you find something you can’t handle.Happy birthday Han baby! I hope everything you ever hoped this birthday would be is one-hundred times better for you <3)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru & Sawamura Daichi, Oikawa Tooru & Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	rain drops on roses (and soaking wet kittens)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrume/gifts).



> This got a little angsty, whoop. Hope you like it anyway baby <3

The weather really is _ghastly_ today.

It’s not a typhoon, according to the perky weather-girl on the eight o’clock news, but it sure freaking looks like it. The steady drumming of the rain matches the under-caffeinated headache thumping in his head, and the sight of gray skies behind rain-spattered glass isn’t doing his mood any favors. 

Tooru purses his lips at the window, annoyed. 

“This is because you’re an _ameotoko_ , Iwa-chan,” he complains to the empty seat before him. The coffee in his cup scalds his tongue, and he _tsk_ s and sets it back down. 

It’s eight o’clock in the morning on a gloomy Saturday, his coffee is too hot, his head is a being a bitch, and Iwa-chan isn’t here. Out of the long list of things going wrong on a day that was supposed to be special, Tooru finds that last one to be the most infuriating. 

And, okay, to be fair? It’s not _special_ special, or anything. Iwa-chan probably doesn’t even remember it, and Tooru had found himself weirdly tongue-tied whenever the opportunity to remind him came up the night before. 

Anniversaries are… stupid, anyway. What does it matter, that you’re marking the day you met or the day you did something great and amazing or _whatever_ ? It’s not like Tooru’s going to forget the day his long-time crush casually said, _’If you’re free tomorrow, let’s go out’_ , and proceeded to equally casually start dating Tooru. It went on for weeks before he could even admit to himself that this might not, in fact, be a long-running practical joke or something he was misinterpreting, so—so what guarantee does he have that the actual date means anything to Iwa-chan? 

Nothing, is what—as evidenced by the way it’s a god-awful hour of the morning and Iwa-chan is already gone. 

The _Number 1 Spiker!_ drawn on his cup in permanent marker (by a sloppy hand, thanks Mattsun) is starting to smudge. Picking at it moodily, Tooru scalds his tongue again, washing down a ridiculous surge of bitterness with the more palatable taste of too-hot coffee. 

It’s just… a silly little thing. Tooru is an idiot for even remembering, and an unforgivably stupid one for thinking about it over and over again for the past week. 

“ _Emergency at work,_ ’” Tooru says to his boyfriend’s empty chair, mocking in spite of himself. His fingers tap at ceramic, then shift to the table, drumming a beat to match the rain.

“ _’Have to head into Tokyo. Be back later tonight_.’ Yeah. Great.” 

But that’s unfair, isn’t it? It’s not his boyfriend’s fault he’s such a hard worker and so quick to volunteer for extra work. Just because he’s been gone a lot recently isn’t any call to be a bitch. Iwa-chan never gave him shit for his budding career, so what the hell is he doing, thinking like this? 

Fuck. Here he is, feeling sorry for himself, when Iwa-chan is probably gonna come back home exhausted from getting called in on a Saturday: he doesn’t need Tooru adding to his workload. 

(And he always seems to be tired. At life, at his work, when he gets home, when he’s with _Tooru_ —)

Anyway, whatever. Tooru’s drumming fingers splay across the table, then slap down on it decisively. 

He’s getting tired of his own moping; moping’s only fun when there’s someone around to offer sympathy. 

Making a sudden decision, Tooru scoots back his chair and stands with a screech that’s lost in a sudden rumble of thunder. He leaves the empty kitchen and his cooling cup of coffee, and heads for his coat hanging in the entryway to their apartment. 

He probably ought to change, but… Appearances are only important when there’s someone there to notice, and besides, his coat will do well enough to hide his sloppy appearance. Tooru tugs at the hem of the coat anyway as he shoves his feet into sneakers, feeling a hint of uncertainty as he considers the silk pajama pants, but. 

Eh. Whatever. 

It’s only the beginning of October, anyway. It’s probably warm enough. 

Wallet, keys, phone. Tooru heads out the door before he can change his mind, feeling his mood sinking further with the immediate spray of water that comes through the stairwell to dampen his face. 

He’s already locked the door before he realizes he forgot his umbrella; he’s beyond caring by the time he lifts the latch to the front gate and swings it open.

—

Early October is fucking _cold_. Thank goodness for alcohol.

Tooru digs his chin into his knees, rolling his head back and forth as he sulkily studies the bottle in his hand. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was a mistake: already the burn of crappy gin is turning to something hot and slightly nauseating, and he’s barely reached a third of the bottle. It’s warming him up, though, and doing wonders for his mood…

...Doing wonders. Yeah. 

He really did mean to just… go on a walk. Bad moods have always translated to restlessness, and Tooru generally feels better after some kind of exercise. But after a few hours of moodily trudging around the neighborhood without much success (ignoring the multitude of dirty, suspicious looks from the people around him, huddled pretentiously under their umbrellas), he came across _the park_. 

( _”If this wasn’t a date, Shitty-kawa, would I be kissing you right now?”_

 _Tooru blinks at him stupidly. “What do you mean, ‘kissing m—“_ )

Tooru stopped in his tracks upon seeing it, made it a few faltering steps through the entrance of the park, then booked it to the nearest convenience store for some liquid courage. 

This eventually led him here, to the fountain where Iwa-chan pulled him against him and kissed him in broad daylight, surrounded by happy families on a pleasant Saturday afternoon. Actually getting _into_ the fountain was an easy choice, after the happy memories started getting clouded by dark, rumbling clouds of unhappiness.

Now Tooru’s just cold, and slightly drunk, and feeling lonelier than he can remember being in a hell of a long time. 

Tooru allows gravity to take hold and drop him onto his side with a quiet splash of water. The volume of the small fountain has risen from the rain, maybe, since he vaguely remembers it being a lot lower around this time of year. But it still goes half-way up his thighs, and while he thinks his initial reasoning that swimming in a pool of disappointment would be made more fitting by being in an _actual_ pool, he’s starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. He’s not shaking _too_ much, though, and alcohol is good for warming you up, right? 

Tooru rolls onto his back, floating in the probably-disgusting water, and lifts the bottle to pour into his mouth. He nearly chokes, which he probably should have expected, but he powers through it. After, with the nasty aftertaste sitting in his mouth, he stares up at the gray sky, blinking away falling rain. 

He’s probably lucky it’s raining: knowing how popular this park normally is, he probably would have been arrested for being a public nuisance by now, on a normal day. 

Wouldn’t that be an anniversary to remember, huh? Being dragged home by a police officer. Maybe then Iwa-chan would actually… 

A wave of disgust roils through his stomach, so strong he almost thinks it’s the alcohol. Tooru can’t even finish the thought under that sudden self-loathing, He’s such an ungrateful _asshole_. His boyfriend is an amazing person, even before being an awesome boyfriend, and it’s incredible how he puts up with so much crap from Tooru when, most days, Tooru can barely stand to look himself in the mirror. 

He’s just selfish, is what it comes down to. Selfish and whiny and… stupid. 

Tooru drinks, not caring when half of it pours down the side of his mouth. He _plonks_ the bottle onto the concrete edge of the fountain with a trembling hand, changes his mind, and chugs some more.

He’s selfish and _stupid_ , and making a big deal out of nothing. He needs to get over himself and get home before Iwa-chan gets back and sees him being a little bitch. 

—

_”....Hello? Oikawa-san?”_

“Refreshiiiiiiiiin’-kun,” Tooru slurs into the phone. He stopped shaking a while ago, which was nice; not-so-nice is the way the world keeps trying to spin every time he blinks his eyes, making him miss-time when to close them to avoid catching water. 

But that’s fine. He’s mostly warm now, and there’s still more alcohol where that warm came from. 

He hiccups, and slaps a hand beside him to search for his bottle. “Refre-refreshing-kun,” he says again, speaking a little more clearly and carefully. He has very important news to impart, and it wouldn’t do to say it wrong.

“I am… trash.”

This realization came to him about half-way through the bottle, when a piece of floating debris almost poked out his eye. 

He waves it around in the air, now, having abandoned his attempts to find his bottle. The plastic wrapper crinkles, a sparkling advertisement on its ripped face chirping something he can’t read for the blurriness; but the sound’s nice, and fitting. 

” _...Um. Oikawa-s—are you okay? You sound… kind of…”_

“M’ _garbage_.” Tooru fists the plastic wrapper, feels the sharp edges as numb pressure against skin that doesn’t really feel anything right now. 

“M’like a… wilty lettuce... thing. All… wilty ‘n gross ‘n stuff.” 

Wow, he’s really on a roll. This shit is golden. 

” _Oikawa-san, you really don’t sound so good. Is Iwaizumi with yo—“_

“’n you know, like. Salad’s only good f’r a day ‘fore you gotta dump it,” he says loudly, drowning out the rest of a sentence he doesn’t want to hear. When the wrapper drops from his limp fingers, it lands on his forehead and sticks there, the damp collecting on his head acting as an adhesive. Humming to himself, Tooru leaves it be.

“Maybe imma be dump’d. You think Imma be dump’d, Refreshin’-kun?” 

_”...Look, Oika—“_

The sound cuts off. Tooru pulls the phone away from his ear, squinting as he tries to make out if it’s been turned off or not. It doesn’t look like it? Oh, there’s some more sounds.

He puts it back to his ear.

” _—kawa. Oikawa, can you hear me?”_

...Oh. That’s not Suga. 

“‘ello, Cap’tin!” Tooru greets him cheerfully. It’s getting a little tiring, holding his head above water to make the phone call; he splashes around a little as he tries to find his feet, and manages to make it to his knees after only slipping once.

“S’nice to hear from—“

_”Where are you, Oikawa? Why can I hear water and thunder?”_

Tooru snickers to himself. What a funny guy! 

“Outside, ‘course. Taking a swim, ‘cause m’Trashy-kawa, King o’garbage!” 

There’s a moment of silence. Tooru spots his bottle, brightens, and reaches over the side of the fountain to grab it. He must have knocked it over on accident. Good thing the cap’s on! 

_”...Oikawa. Listen to me carefully.”_

He hums his agreement, distracted by his uncooperative fingers refusing to unscrew the cap. 

_”I need you to send me your location. Can you do that for me?”_

Sticking out his lower lip in a pout, Tooru brings the bottle up to eye level and scowls at it.

“‘pen up,” he demands of the stupid bottle. “You stupid bottle. M’thirst—“

_”Tooru!”_

The sudden harsh tone, where Sawamura was maintaining an even cadence up to this point, is extremely shocking. Tooru yelps and drops the bottle, then has to scramble to pick it back up. 

“Yes, yes, what? Yes?” His heartbeat is thudding in his ears all of a sudden, and Tooru finds himself flinching when a streak of lightning brightens up the gray sky. 

Ooh. The former Karasuno Captain still has it in him, huh. He hasn’t seen the couple in a few months, but _this_ he hasn’t heard or seen in longer—not in person, anyway.

_”Send. Me. Your. Location. Now, Oikawa.”_

Tooru has the sudden urge to stick out his tongue at the demanding tone of voice—and does, because he can. But he’ll never be drunk enough to ignore that tone, not where he personally knows where _that_ leads (nowhere good, oh _no_ ), so he immediately does as he’s told.

His phone pings as his location is sent, popping up on the cheery green background of Sawamura’s personal Line. Feeling sulky and ill-done by, Tooru mutters: “S’done. Whad’ya want with it, ‘nyway?”

 _”Stay put,”_ is all he says, then the phone clicks, and it’s only the dial tone on the other end. 

What, is he going to come here or something? Disturbing Tooru’s important time of realization and moping in the rain?

What a killjoy. 

(He’s definitely not happy at the idea of a shoulder to cry on, not even a little bit.)

With nothing left to do but drown in the still-falling rain, Tooru drops his phone with a clatter of metal on concrete and flops back into the water, deciding to spend his time productively with a good sulk. 

By the time Sawamura shows up, looming over him with a large black umbrella and a dark look to match, Tooru is busy trying to catch a mouthful of water.

Drinking is thirsty business, and being trash is not easy, okay.

He shuts his mouth, annoyed at the interruption, and complains, “You coverin’ my source’a water. _Move_.” 

Sawamura, the rude bastard, doesn’t say a word; he just pulls Tooru straight out of the water, one-handed.

Tooru allows it because whooooa, that’s pretty damn cool. He may not look it, but Tooru’s got some muscle on his bones, and even Iwa-chan has a hard time tossing him around in bed or when he’s decided it’s time to pummel his poor ass. Tooru doesn’t bother resisting the urge to fondle those awesome biceps, cooing at them in delight.

“‘s strong,” he compliments Sawamura, who is busy picking up Tooru’s things like a weirdo, and not appreciating the awesome gift nature gave him. “Nice arms.” 

“You probably won’t be appreciating them much, in a couple of hours,” Sawamura returns grimly and super nonsensically. Tooru scrunches his nose, confused, but obediently follows the insistent tug that pulls him up onto the ledge and hoists him the rest of the way down.

He sways, once put on his feet, feeling weirdly disoriented and—hey, a little sick. 

“Ew, yuck,” he mumbles, tripping into the other man as he tries to make the world stop spinning so sickeningly. “Tha’s yucky.” He slaps at the hands holding him upright, vaguely thinking it best to get some distance before his stomach gets any more demanding. That doesn’t do much, but Tooru keeps tugging, feeling that terrible watery feeling in his mouth.

Shitty gin is _disgusting_. 

“You—right, fine.” Will throwing up make him feel better? Probably, but Tooru _hates_ throwing up—

His stomach revolts. Tooru’s still flailing from the change in position before he realizes Sawamura is _putting him over his shoulder_ like some kind of dumbass firefighter, with his umbrella still held over his hea—did he do that one-handed? Does he have an extra arm, with those same awesome muscles he felt in the other one? 

It’s a fight not to puke all the way down the rolling muscles of the back under his grasping hands, but Tooru bites harshly into his tongue and breathes deep until it passes. When they begin moving and his stomach starts to get used to it, Tooru ventures a question:

“Wh’re… what’re you doin’, Sawawamura?” 

“‘Sawawamura’. That’s a new one.” It’s not an answer, though, and that _could_ have been a joke, but it didn’t sound like one. Tooru frowns at the shapely backside nicely within reach, then gets distracted from thinking about anything else as he watches it flex and shift as Sawamura walks.

Too bad Suga doesn’t seem the type to like sharing. It would be nice to get a good grip on those tasty looking buns…

He wiggles about, thumping his foot against a nice solid surface in thought. It’s worth considering, isn’t it? When the world is nice and fuzzy like this, anything is worth considering—

Two claps, loud as thunder. His asscheeks shriek in answering pain, and Tooru shrieks right along with them. 

“OW! Wha _zzat_ for, Samamura?! Ow!” 

Did the horrible beast of a man just smack his poor ass? _Owwww._

“You’re kicking my stomach,” the man scolds him, unmoved by his mournful entreaty. “And if you wiggle too much, you’ll fall. Do that again, and you’ll get more than a handful of love taps, little brat. We clear?” 

His stomach revolts for an entirely different reason. If _this_ is the kind of thing Karasuno had to put up with on a regular basis, Tooru is quite glad his little kouhai found a home there. He’s always thought Tobio-chan’s ego could use a good smack down or two. 

He appreciates that thought a little less, right now. It’s not the first time he’s been on the receiving end of this sort of brutish treatment from this horrid man, but it feels strangely acute today, with his soaking pajama pants and the skin stretched tightly under them. It tugs at what remainder of his instincts aren’t dulled by drinking, and Tooru forces his jittery body to go still.

“Good boy.” 

For some reason, that _hurts_. Even pondering _why_ that might be hurts worse, though, so Tooru—probably for once in his life—concentrates on the stinging in his ass until the pain of the thought fades away. 

When finally he’s set down on his feet (with a firm grip to keep his knees from crumpling under him), Tooru realizes they’re standing in front of a car, with—

 _Iwa-chan_? Tooru mouthes, eyes going wide and, stupidly, beginning to fill. Iwa-chan spots them just as Tooru makes a thoughtless lunge for the fence separating him from the person he _desperately_ needs to touch, now, _right this instant_ ; Iwa-chan solves his problem by throwing the door open and leaping over the fence.

The hug that lifts him off his feet doesn’t have the control and strength of Sawamura’s steady hands, but Tooru doesn’t care a wit.

“Where the hell have you been, Tooru?” his boyfriend snarls in his ear, sounding half-way to hysterical and entirely irate. Tooru only sobs and squeezes tight, muffling his own hysterics against familiar hair that’s rapidly growing wet. 

“I’ve been calling you for _hours_. You just _disappeared_ without warning—” 

“‘was ignoring m’phone,” he mumbles, hiccuping. The tightening of the hug reminds him this is probably not the right thing to say. _You should care about that_ , a distant part of his mind tells him. He really, really doesn’t. 

“Miss you,” he whispers instead, feeling the watery sadness enter his throat. Iwa-chan was in the process of moving, trying to shift Tooru aside to move him somewhere, but now he stills. A hand goes to rest on his lower back, clever fingers still and warm against skin that’s starting to prickle back to awareness. 

“Miss you _so much._ ” 

“...Yeah, Shitty-kawa,” Iwa-chan murmurs back a moment later, his voice strangely thick. “I’ve missed you too.” 

He’s bundled into the back of the car a moment later, pressed against Iwa-chan. He’s dripping water all over the back seat and probably ruining the upholstery, but he cares as much about that as he does the tears being caught in Iwa-chan’s collar. 

Suga turns back to look at him from the front seat, worry in his eyes. Tooru gives him a watery smile, sniffling, and gets a sympathetic one in return. 

Now that he’s somewhere warm and dry, he’s starting to properly shiver. It’s a good excuse to snuggle into Iwa-chan until he’s practically draped over him, though, so he doesn’t mind.

“You’re in so much trouble,” his boyfriend whispers fiercely into his ear.

“N’huh.”

“I’m gonna _flay_ your ass, you absolute _brat_.”

Tooru nods against his neck agreeably. “‘mkay.”

“You won’t sit comfortably this side of Christmas.”

“Nooooo,” he mumbles a half-hearted protest, slumping fully against the warmth of boyfriend’s welcoming hug. The arms around him hold him close, a hand moving up to tangle in his wet hair. His breathing hitches, but his sobs are beginning to fade, soothed by the whir of the heater, the quiet voices of the former-Karasuno Third Years, and the comfort of having Iwa-chan back where he belongs. 

“ _Yes_. You, my hand, and a nice, sturdy implement are going to have a _conversation_ when you sober up. Look forward to it.” 

He isn’t looking forward to it, not in the slightest; but the knowledge still warms him all the way past his freezing clothes.

“ _Meanie_. ...Love you, ‘wa-chan.” 

“Love you too, Shitty-kawa.” 


End file.
